


Legal Trouble

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: When her ex-boyfriend Foggy calls, Marci Stahl ought to know better than to answer. But she has a soft spot for Foggy. That's how she ends up hiding someone for Nelson & Murdock at her uncle's upstate cabin. She just didn't expect Frank Castle to be such an annoying houseguest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

Marci Stahl was leaving spin class when her ex-boyfriend called. “Foggy Nelson,” she said archly. “What do you need this time?”  

“Why do you think I need something?” Foggy said in his sweetest voice. Foggy and she had been law students together and interned at a high-profile law firm. It had been fun. Really fun. She’d thought they had something. Then Foggy had ditched her and his bright future to start a shabby Hell’s Kitchen firm with his buddy Matt Murdock. 

“Because you only call me when you need something, Fog,” she said. Nelson & Murdock was already making waves for challenging unethical landlords, defending people framed for murder, and taking down Wilson Fisk, the crime boss. Marci had heard that people had seen Matt with extensive bruises and black eyes. It was pretty scary shit. Matt was blind. Who would beat up a blind guy? Only some gangster employed by Fisk, Marci thought. 

“I really need a favor,” Foggy said softly.

“I thought you owed me?” Marci said. She’d managed to get him some information that he needed about a shell company once and sworn it was her last time doing anything ethically dubious. She didn’t want to be disbarred before she turned thirty-five.

“Okay,” Foggy said, “maybe I do. But this is important. Life and death.”

“Did Matt get beat up again?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” he said. “I just need to stash someone at your uncle’s place upstate, Marci. Don’t you go every May?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m teleworking on files from there this week. Leaving tomorrow. Is this a biker or an old lady, Foggy? I’d really prefer the old lady, okay?” she asked. They let Marci stay there because she’d tutored her cousin Rachel for years and her cousin had won the statewide spelling bee, a debate championship, and a dozen scholarships. Rachel was headed to Vassar in the fall.

“Neither,” Foggy said. “We’ll meet you there. Is the key still around the side of the house?”

“You know, I haven’t even said yes yet?” she said.

“Say yes, my darling, you wonderful, wonderful woman,” Foggy pleaded. 

“All right. Fine,” she said.

“Matt says that the saints will bless you,” Foggy said cheerfully.

“No they won’t,” Marci said. “I’ve had entirely too much premarital sex.” A woman on the sidewalk stared at her and Marci rolled her eyes.

 

***

 

The next afternoon, she drove upstate. A battered van was parked in the driveway of her uncle and aunt’s’ tiny cabin. Foggy met her as she was pulling her luggage out of the car. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing and doing that little prayer thing with his hands that she’d seen people do at yoga. She was pretty sure it was only half-sincere. 

“Shut up, Foggy Lama. Who is this person?” she asked.

He blanched. “It’s….complicated?” he asked, pushing his long blonde hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, God,” she said. She wheeled her suitcase up the sidewalk and marched inside the house. The adorable Matt Murdock was sitting in her dad’s favorite chair. Karen Page was standing beside him.

“Hello, Marci,” he said. “We really appreciate this.” Marci always wondered how Matt knew who people were, but she imagined he knew voices, walks, and colognes. She wasn’t too far off. 

“Really, really appreciate it,” Karen said, “so does he.” Marci swung her head at Karen’s gesture towards the person sitting opposite them on the couch. A man with a horribly bruised, bloody face. A familiar face. She dropped the handle of her suitcase.

“Motherfucker,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Miss Stahl,” Frank Castle said. He rubbed the top of his buzzcut.

“I hope you don’t mind dogs,” Karen said. There was a grey pitbull at Frank’s booted feet.

  
  


Marci yanked Foggy out onto the porch. “No, no, no. Oh, no. He is a wanted fugitive! He’s killed, like, twenty-five people,” she said. “This week!”

“They were gangsters?” Foggy suggested mildly. “He’s very good with the dog? You love dogs.”

“What even is my life?” Marci said. She could’ve sworn she heard Matt chuckle. “Not funny, Murdock!” she yelled through the screen door. This time, it was Frank who laughed.

 

***

 

That night, when the three of them drove away, leaving Marci alone with Frank and the dog, she watched them leave and walked purposefully back into the house. “We need to discuss ground rules,” she told the former Marine.

“Okay, then,” he said aggressively. “Rule away, ma’am.”

“Keep any weapons you have locked up,” she began, but he stopped her.

“That is a deeply stupid idea. There are no children here, so I’m just keeping myself from getting my gun when someone comes to kill me. You’ll die,” he said.

“I’ll take the risk,” Marci snapped.

“Fine,” Frank said, sounding frustrated. “Anything else?”

“You sleep downstairs on this pull-out sofa,” she said. “There’s only one bedroom up there,” she pointed up. “And I don’t want any company at night. At all.”

“Think highly of yourself?” he asked sarcastically.

“Also, you don’t touch my rosé,” she said.

“Do I look like somebody who drinks rosé?” he asked, gesturing towards himself. He was dirty and, she realized, bloody.

“Jesus,” she said. “Are you hurt?”

“Mildly,” he said.

 

***

 

She gave him towels and a change of clothes so he could shower. Then she checked on the groceries that Foggy had helped her unload. Marci wasn’t a cook. She lived off protein bars, fruit, and salads. So, she made herself a salad and left a plate for him. When a clean Frank came into the room--he looked very different in one of Matt’s blue dress shirts and slacks--he peered at the plate. “This is all you eat?” he asked.

“What, it has walnuts, cranberries, and blue cheese,” she said, sipping her wine. “I even sliced the apple?”

“No wonder you Upper East Side women are so skinny,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Who says I’m Upper East Side?” Marci said, mildly insulted. Marci was from Stockton, California. Her dad was an electrician and her mom was a nurse. They were not rich. 

“Everything about you,” Frank said. “You got your little Tiffany’s heart necklace and your yoga mat strapped to your suitcase and all those little signals to other women,” he said. “I bet you spend more money on highlights than some people spend on food every month.”

Marci rolled her eyes. She had actually learned to do her hair herself during law school. Her cosmetologist cousin Staci had taught her how to do freehand highlights and everything. “Typical. I’ll have you know I was top of my class at Stanford,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said, munching on an apple slice from the salad with his fingers.

“Also, the necklace was a graduation present from my grandmother, you schmuck,” she said, putting her glass in the sink. “She was very proud of me.” It was also the cheapest thing you could get at Tiffany’s. Marci had insisted her Granny Dot not spend too much. Her grandmother had wanted her to have something from there because they’d watched  _ Breakfast at Tiffany’s  _ all the time when she’d babysat Marci as a kid. 

“That’s nice,” he said, looking dubiously at a salad leaf. 

“That’s arugula,” she said.

“Arugula?” he said. “Huh.”

“You should know that my aunt Joyce doesn’t believe in exterminators or pesticides, so there are usually spiders in this place. Also, I am doing this as a favor to Foggy, Matt, and Karen, who I care about a lot,” Marci told him, as she went upstairs for the night. “If anything happens to me, they’ll be hurt, too.”

“Noted,” Frank said. ”Have a good night, Legally Blonde.”   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in Home Repair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos.

In the morning, Frank got up and took Buddy the dog on a walk. He wore a hoodie. Then he came inside and looked around. He hadn’t realized before, but the place was a little shabby. They’d painted over the old wood paneling downstairs with whitewash, trying to make it look bigger, but it was clearly an aging cabin from the 1970s. The appliances were all original. That beige that had been popular when he was a kid, not the new smoothtop ranges or stainless steel. There was a small water stain in the kitchen ceiling. He looked at the family photographs. There was a couple with a little girl with braces. Marci appeared in them frequently, her arm wrapped around the younger girl, beaming. The both of them were frequently tan from being outdoors. Probably summer vacation, he guessed. In several photos, the girl and Marci appeared to be studying or practicing an instrument in the yard. The little girl seemed to keep her head in books, too. One photo had her and Marci standing with her parents in front a sign for a debate championship. It dawned on Frank as he looked at the clothes and the people that Marci Stahl’s aunt and uncle didn’t seem rich at all.

Marci woke up to the sound of someone beating on the roof. “What the hell?” she yelled. When she came out of the bedroom, she realized someone had been in the attic. She marched outside in her pajamas and found Frank on the roof. “What are you doing? It’s seven am!” she yelled.

“I’m fixing your roof leak, Legally Blonde,” he said. “That’s the cause of your kitchen water stain.”

“Oh,” Marci said. “Thank you?” She was momentarily nonplussed. Frank Castle was playing handyman on the roof?

“I wouldn’t mind some coffee,” he said casually.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

“Black!” he yelled. “Cream and sugar,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

“Please don’t fall,” she yelled.

“Why? You afraid I’ll sue you?” he asked.

  
  


***

When he came inside later, he looked at Marci. Buddy was curled up at her feet. “Traitor,” he said. “I saved your life, dog.”

“I fed him toast,” she said. “You want some? I have bananas, too.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m fully capable of making my own eggs. Who’s the kid?” he asked, as he went to the fridge and began the quick process scrambling eggs

“What?” Marci said.

“The little girl in the photos with you?” he asked. She was about his daughter Lisa’s age in the oldest ones, Frank thought grimly. His dead little girl.

“My little cousin. Rachel,” Marci said. “My cousin Rachel.” She laughed.

“What?” Frank said, momentarily confused.

“It’s a book. By Daphne Du Maurier?  _ My Cousin Rachel.  _ I’ve never introduced her like that before, it just occurred to me. I’ll have to text her, she’ll love that,” Marci said.

“She likes to read, huh?” Frank asked. Marci nodded.

“She loves books. She was on the statewide debate championship team last year,” she said proudly. “She’s won spelling bees, was on her high school honor roll and is going to Vassar in the fall.”

“You her coach or something?” he asked wryly, pouring the whisked eggs into the hot frying pan.

“Actually, yes. That’s how I get to stay here. I come for a week in the summer by myself and then usually spend the summer babysitting Rachel and tutoring her,” she said. 

“What do her parents do?” Frank asked.

“My uncle has a hardware store and my aunt is a county social worker about an hour and a half away. They work during the summers, so,” she said.

“You come babysit?” he said.

“Yeah. My aunt Joyce’s parents owned this place first,” she said. “They left it to her. Nothing’s changed from when I was eleven, except the white pant.”

“Yeah,” Frank said.

“Aunt Joyce hates change. She wants it to stay the same,” Marci said. 

“No new remodel?” he asked.

“God no, she’d kill us. I kinda get her point though,” she said. “It’s nice to have a place you go back to that feels the same.” Frank walked over and spooned some scrambled eggs on Marci’s plate. “What are you doing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

“You ought to eat more,” he scolded. 

“Are you nagging me?” she asked. 

“Pepper or salt?” he asked.

“Pepper,” she said. “These are good. I normally hate eggs.”

“You gotta cook them on low, so they don’t get rubbery,” he said. 

Frank made an audible scoffing noise when Marci snuck Buddy some eggs. “What? He likes them,” she said.

“He’ll be farting on me tonight. I’m not making you eggs again, Legally Blonde,” he said. 

 

They ate in silence for a minute. “What?” he asked, catching her expression.

“This is our last summer before Rachel’s all grown up and my first summer of only staying two weeks,” Marci said suddenly, the realization landing on her with a thud. It sort of sucked, she thought. “They want me back at work. I’m telecommuting or whatever.”

“She’ll need your help in college, probably,” Frank said in a quiet voice. “I hear the transition is hard.” He would never get to see it with his children, he thought. 

“Yeah,” Marci said, looking out the window. “Things are changing, whether Joyce likes it or not.”

“Don’t let your eggs get cold,” Frank said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marci really doesn't do vocal fry, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos.

Marci spent the afternoon answering emails and doing case work in the living room. Normally, this would have been a peaceful escape from her tiny law office, to be able to sprawl out in a comfortable chair and not be packed in with three other junior associates. Normally. Except Frank Castle was one of those guys who channel-surfed. Compulsively. Five seconds of golf. _Click_ . Five seconds of Mario Lopez on _Extra. Click._ Five seconds of Rudy Giuliani and two guys yelling on CNN. _Click._  Five seconds of Dr. Phil. _Click._ Five seconds of a very rich couple on HGTV looking at gorgeous houses on St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands. “Can you believe this shit?” Frank muttered, shaking his head. “Who lives full-time in the goddamn Virgin Islands?”

“Some very lucky people,” Marci said, sighing. Her student loan balance was growing, right this second, she thought. Like a tumor or a Harry Potter monster. _Fantastic Tuition Beasts and Where to Find Them._ Her parents had set up a college fund when she was a baby that had taken care of most of her undergrad years, in combination with her track and academic scholarships at Stanford. She’d taken off a few years between undergrad and law school to save, waited tables all during her college years, and only borrowed enough for tuition and books at Columbia, but she could sometimes just _feel_ the thirty-five thousand that she still owed for law school ballooning out. Would she ever get to go on a real vacation or would she die with an outstanding student loan balance. Mentally, she imagined her grandchildren congratulating themselves at her funeral because “at least Grandma Marci’s student loans die with her.”

He’d paused on MSNBC again. Lawrence O’Donnell was pontificating about, well, whatever bug had crawled up his ass that day. What an easy job, Marci thought. Just go in, sit in front of camera, and act like the news story _du jour_ is the end of the world. Rinse. Repeat. Did cable news hosts believe what they said or were they secretly like lawyers, the DAs and defense attorneys exchanging quiet looks of _this is such bullshit_ in the hallways?

“You got a lawnmower?” Frank asked her suddenly.

“What?” she said, annoyed. It was as much because she found Lawrence O’Donnell pretentious and smug as anything Frank said.

“It’s a machine that cuts the grass, Harvard Law,” he said.

“Columbia,” she corrected automatically. The Columbia-Harvard Law rivalry was a real thing. “Sorry,” she said, when he frowned at her and it dawned on her that he was asking for something to do. “I think it’s in the shed?” Marci said.

“You always do that?” he said.

“Do what?” she said.

“That little girly thing, phrasing all your answers in the form of a question,” he said, pushing down his shirtsleeves. “I think it’s in the _shed?_ ” he mimicked, giving her a girlishly breathy voice.

“I do not vocal fry, okay,” Marci said sharply.

“That’s what someone with vocal fry always says, but I notice you know the term like you looked it up. Maybe you were worried about that,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Yeah, I think you were. I’m going to mow the lawn now.”

“You aren’t worried about anyone seeing you?” Marci asked. “How am I going to explain who you are to the neighbors?”

He was halfway out of the room when he turned back. “Hey, I don’t know, you’re the lawyer, not me. Don’t you have a lie for all occasions?” he asked as he pulled the hoodie over his shoulders.

“You know that makes you more conspicuous, not less,” she said. “It’s a million degrees out. Take my uncle’s hat instead. It’s hanging by the door.”

“It makes me look like Gilligan,” Frank groused.

“Well, then I guess you should have picked a different face to go on the run with,” Marci said dryly. “Bob Denver.” Frank chuckled.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. She heard the door open and shut. Several minutes later, she realized the lawnmower was running. Frank’s shadow passed by the window. Marci realized he was wearing the Gilligan hat and grinned.

She got back to work and was actually making progress--mentally, she shrunk her _Fantastic Tuition Beast_ from the size of a rhino to a large house cat--when her cell phone rang. “Marci Stahl’s office,” she said brightly. Sometimes, she pretended to be her own receptionist. That impressed people.

“Marci!” her aunt Joyce said. “It’s good to hear you, sweetie.”

“Hi, Aunt Joyce,” Marci said in her normal tone. “I’m just settling in up here.”

“We heard,” Joyce said in a cheerful tone. “I’m so happy for you, honey. It makes this easier. I was so afraid you’d be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Marci said.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, but Rachel got an offer to play in a special concert on a trip. It’s part of a nationally ranked band of seniors and recent high school graduates. We’re going with her. We’ll be in Toronto while you and Foggy are there.”

“Foggy?” Marci said. “Wait, the whole week?”

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re back together!” Joyce trilled. She’d always liked Foggy Nelson.

“Aunt Joyce,” Marci said firmly, “he and I aren’t together. We’re never, ever getting back together.” Joyce laughed.

“Rachel loves that Taylor Swift, too,” she said. “She plays that song all the time. She’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“I can’t believe you’re all going to be gone the whole week?” Marci said, the news sinking in with a thud.

“I’m afraid so,” Joyce said. “But honey, why didn’t tell me you were seeing someone new?”

“What? What makes you think I’m seeing someone new?” Marci said, torn between confusion and disappointment. She would be all alone here. Maybe they could record Rachel’s concert for her?

“Well, sweetheart, June next door called and said you were there and that your boyfriend had fixed the roof and was mowing the grass, so I just assumed that you and Foggy were back together. He’s such a nice man, always helping out. I wish you two could work it out,” Joyce said, sighing.

“Oh,” Marci said. The neighbors had seen Frank. _Frank._

“But this new guy sounds very helpful. June says he’s very tidy and he always picks up after his dog when he walks it,” Joyce said. “Lots of men are so insecure, they refuse to pick up the _poop_.” She whispered the last word.

“Uh, um,” Marci flailed internally. What was she supposed to say? “Um, thanks?” she said. She was glad Frank wasn’t in the room to nail her on the whole vocal fry thing.

“What’s his name, sweetie?” Joyce asked.

“Pete,” Marci said. That was Frank’s current alias. “I hope you don’t mind about the dog.”

“Of course not, honey, I love dogs! You know I always say that a dog person is my kind of person,” Joyce said. “And we want to see you happy. You’ve always been so good with Rachel. I hoped you and Foggy would settle down and have a few kids of your own. Imagine how cute and towheaded they’d be!”

“Yeah,” Marci said, sighing. She had, in fact, imagined those kids, too. She just didn’t think Foggy was ever going to be on the same page with her at the right time. He was off founding longshot law firms with Matt and still going out drinking and coming to work hungover the next day. Marci didn’t want that kind of relationship. She was still thinking about little blonde kids playing in the sprinklers when Frank came back into the house.

 

***

The dog jumped up and ran to him. “Hey, Buddy,” he said. “Enjoying the air conditioning, huh? Lucky fucker.” Frank was all sweaty and really wanted a shower, but he stopped and wiped his feet on the rough mat by the backdoor anyway. It was a hard habit to break. Maria had always given him shit about tracking dirt and grass on her carpet when he did yard work. “Hey, Legally Blonde, yard’s done,” he called. In the living room, Marci was staring into space. He tilted his head to one side. “You know what that’s about?” he said quietly to Buddy. The dog wagged his tail and it made a _thump thump thump_ on the baseboards that was the best sound in Frank’s life these days. “Hey, look alive,” Frank said in a louder voice.

“What?” Marci said. She’d practically jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” Frank said. “You know, you really should pay more attention,” he told her. “You had no idea I was even in the house, did you?”

“What, like you’re a dangerous fugitive?” Marci said archly.

**Author's Note:**

> This may just be a one-off. We'll see?


End file.
